Denial
by Seien24
Summary: A short story in which I jack off over the English language and haphephobic Starscream is raped. StarscreamxMegatron, slash, noncon, rating R to NC-17 rape and violence discussed but not actually described


**Name: **Denial  
**Rating: **R for violence, implied rape  
**Wordcount: **2,299 words  
**Pairing: **StarscreamxMegatron  
**Author's Notes: **This is roughly the Starscream from amidoh's story "The Spires of Altihex", but long after Skyfire has died. This Starscream is not Whoarscream, not an exhibitionist, not optimistic and Not Very Nice. He is also haphephobic, which was the entire premise of the story - I came up with the idea after meeting amidoh for the first time IRL (many months ago, hah.) and since it is an integral part of this Starscream's personality, plus the story is a short, I didn't want to stress it too much at first. 3 Also, lol verbal jackoff.

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In the wan skies of Cybertron, the tetrajet twisted and arched. His movements were distilled grace, poise incarnate, elegance belonging to the very ideal of the flier. He had perfected military flying, refined it to an art, scalpel-sharp precision edging his perfect wings. Through this haze of beauty – and the Seeker's flight _was_ beautiful – Starcream shone brilliantly. Unafraid of the most extortionate acrobatics, dropping from the skies only to climb again at speeds unimaginable to almost anyone but Starscream himself; and yet the Seeker would flinch away from a simple gesture of another mech's hand too close to his own, possessed by a unalloyed terror that created an invisible and as yet unpenetrated shield around the flier's armour.

The Excelsior Prince of the Air, Lord of the Firmament: untouchable. The Seeker was aptly named, starlike in his gleam and sharpness and just as distant. And as for Megatron, it was not that he was a mere groundcrawler, boorishly desiring to dirty anything that was brighter than he. It was that Megatron strove to achieve. He tried. Like Starscream, he tried. He wanted more, to do more, to achieve more.

He was just quieter about it.

Megatron wanted. His power was his desire, and his refusal to ever be denied. Something that shone as brightly as Starscream was… irresistible. It demanded the Tyrant's attention. It made him want. Not merely to have such a fierce creature -such a true Decepticon – under him by the rules as his subordinate Lieutenant but _conquered_, leashed to his side, jessed and hooded as his untamed pet.

That changed things. No longer merely irresistible, but now a requirement.

He was Megatron, and he would not be denied.

Starscream dropped from the sky, a blazing comet, transforming and landing on his feet. His thrusters scorched the cold metal of the landing pad; ruby optics blazed, systems overtaxed from his exertions. For fleeting moments the starlight of space gleamed from the knife's-edges of his argent wings and edged his crimson with silver – but then he left the roof of the base and made his way inside.

He didn't stop flying through personal desire. He could have taken more. The caress of air resistance on his wings, the lover's touch of freedom, arching in ecstasy beneath the panorama of the star-scattered universe: this was preferable to the base, where they put a roof over his head, clipped his wings, and surrounded him with… well.

Starscream had never been exactly comfortable around others. He developed ways to keep them distant. An acerbic attitude had served him the best; any mech foolish enough to approach him for anything found themselves on the receiving end of a barrage of venomous words too vitriolic to be termed mere abuse. With infamous reputation Starscream built around himself the impenetrable shield he had always wanted. Nobody came near him, not even to talk, but it was better than talking and risking touch.

Flight was a sanctuary from that existence. He was the best, that was true, a fact not least owing to all the time he spent perfecting himself. Ironically perhaps, Starscream _did_ want renown. Not just another seeker but Starscream, Ruler of the Skies – he could have that title. It had not overwhelmed him when he had received his promotion to Decepticon Air Commander and Second in Command of the Empire. He deserved it; his vicious intelligence combined with unmatchable flying skills made him the best for the job. He shone, the brightest star, marking him out for the position.

The jet had been called down early from his sky to talk with his Commander. Megatron, the Decepticon Warlord, the Slag-Maker – despite all his appellations the despot's name alone was enough to instill terror. Megatron; it was synonymous with dread. Starscream had decided instantly that he was not afraid of him. He was perhaps the only living being who could stand before the Tyrant -huge, imposing form the very colour of death, the legendary Fusion Cannon as much a part of the warlord as the arm it was welded to – and not move a wingtip.

Together they made a breathtaking image. Megatron was destruction incarnate, blazing with fury, every lazy gesture of a hand or slow curve of the lips spelling out slaughter, genocide, devastation. When contrasted, Starscream was a shadow, cold and remote, offhanded in his perfection. He froze the air around him with reserve, dripped with malaise. When Starscream killed he rained destruction down on his enemies from the darkness of the sky, the slow whine of jet engines his only warning, whereas Megatron arrived with a battlecry and a blaze of gunfire.

Had Starscream known that Megatron watched him fly, had he known what Megatron thought of him, he might have been afraid. But he did not, and so he waited with nothing but irritation outside Megatron's throne room for the tyrant to call him in.

"Enter."

That one word, purred in the Tyrant's hoarse, rough voice, and Starscream cued the door and stepped into the room. He walked with a lazy, slow swing of his hips, wings and chin held high, not hurrying or making obeisance. Starscream took his own time. Megatron watched all this with approving optics, full lips curving into a smile enough to strike terror into the spark of any mech – any but Starscream, who merely returned the look; a challenge to best him, to overpower him.

Megatron was not angered. Why be angry? Starscream had challenged him, as he did every time they met, and this time Megatron would take on that challenge, and this time he would win. It was the reason he'd called Starscream down from the skies.

"You wanted to see me?" Starscream asked, loud and clear, unafraid.

More than you know, Megatron thought to himself. "Yes, Starscream. How _observant_ you are."

Starscream scoffed, wings flicking, and folded his arms petulantly. "If you only called me here to exercise your sarcasm—"

"Enough. I didn't order you here to banter. In fact, I was rather _enjoying_ watching your training." The Warlord's voice had suddenly dropped to a low purr, optics narrowing, fanged smile intensifying.

Starscream, for the first time, felt fear.

The Air Commander took a step backwards, something he had never done before, toward the door – which locked, loudly and abruptly. Megatron still sat sprawled confidently, magnificently in his throne, regarding Starscream lazily, like a predator. Starscream's wings were shaking slightly.

"W-what are you saying, Megatron? How- how _dare_ you spy on me while I fly!"

The Seeker began in a tremble-winged tone of fear and ended on an indignant shriek. There was deafening silence for a moment or two as the remnants of the Seeker's voice echoed and faded around the lofty throne room.

Then, Megatron chuckled deeply, softly: a sound of pure foreboding. The Emperor of Destruction knew, if nothing else, the importance of theatrics – his experiences in the Forge had taught him how crucial a skill it was to be able to work a crowd, and those same skills came to him when he was giving a speech to his army and winning every single one of them loyal to his side in those few hallowed moments, or here in the deceptively spacious throne room with his fierce, unafraid Air Commander, where he could bend and break Starscream before he even touched that inviolable vision of the Seeker's armour.

The rich, quiet, malicious laugh reached Starscream's audios, and the Seeker knew that Megatron had been planning this, and furthermore that he was none of the things that Starscream had imagined him to be – had never been such things.

"What…?" The crimson Seeker's voice had taken on a light, airy tone, high and breathless with fear. That, Megatron thought, was as it should have been all along. He leaned forwards in his throne, optics blazing with Pitfire, and Starscream clattered back another step.

"Starscream, Starscream, _Star_scream," he purred, tasting the Seeker's name. "You do not truly believe, do you, that you could dare to shine so bright, to challenge so completely everything you see, everything around you – to challenge even the _wind under your wings_ – and tame it… and fail to catch my attention?"

Starscream shook his head mutely, optics that usually narrowed in defiance, resentment, and spite now wide with terror. Megatron continued,

"And, _surely_ you could not have believed – could you? – that you could, after challenging the very world around you and _winning_, that you could make yourself… _untouchable_… and fail to hold my interest?"

Starscream's lips set into a pout that was half anger and half terror. Megatron saw him draw in on himself, prepare to fend off any who sought to break the invisible fortress around his person.

"_Starscreeeam…_" Megatron got to his feet, standing head and shoulders and then some more over the frightened tetrajet, the image of annihilation and fate that was burned into the minds of his enemies, but never – until now – those whom he liked. To be liked by Megatron, Starscream realized belatedly, was no less dangerous than to be hated by him. "Did you really think that you could challenge_ me_ thus… and escape _unbroken_?"

Starscream fell to his knees.

"My _Lord_," he whispered, "my _Emperor_, I-I have done nothing wrong! I am loyal to the Decepticons – loyal to-to _you_…!"

He obviously believed he would be killed.

Megatron smiled, and Starscream flinched.

"I accused you of nothing but defiance, _Star_scream – not insubordination, not treachery, nor duplicity nor dissidence. No _crime_.You will not be court-martialed, Starscream, nor will you be killed. You have, as you say, done nothing wrong."

Rightly, the fear on Starscream's features did not lessen. Megatron had no need to make Starscream submit to him by threatening him with death – he knew what Starscream feared far worse.

Three quick strides put him in front of the kneeling Seeker. Megatron was used to destruction – more, he reveled in it, shivered under its caress just as Starscream arched beneath the talented hands of flight. Megatron killed – once for his audience, now for his Empire - like an artist, tore down cities, smashed lives and minds and spirits. It was merely a new challenge to press his hand against the impenetrable glass wall behind which Starscream existed, feel it bow and bend beneath his fingers, and then smash and shatter in pieces at his feet.

He had reached out through the empty air and performed so simple a gesture as wrapping the fingers of his hand around the top of Starscream's strake.

The shattering of allegorical glass was made almost real by the piercing shriek that rent the air around them. Starscream flinched back as if he'd been shot, hands flying to Megatron's arm to pull him away, and Megatron released the crimson strake to grab at the azure wrist. More screaming, more struggling, begging and pleading and dry, hysterical sobs. Megatron's grip only intensified.

"Let me _go_!" Starscream pleaded frantically. "_Let me go!" _ Megatron shook his head and tut-tutted. Mocking, cruel. Starscream contorted and thrashed like a trapped turbofox to get away, to no avail.

The Seeker twisted and fired his engines, scorching gashes into the floor, and one hot afterburner caught Megatron across the thigh. Gladiator's reflexes – he didn't drop Starscream. He roared in pain, lifting the Seeker off his feet and smashing him into the wall. Starscream grunted in pain as his wings were jarred and bent, and then he was struggling again as the pain dulled to nothing in the face of the horror of Megatron's hands on him, holding him up, and the Warlord's body pressed against his own, scraping paint and sharing heat. The feel of metal against his own plating sent him into a frenzy, kicking and threshing, free hand scratching and pushing at Megatron's face and shoulders to get him _away._

Megatron pushed himself harder against Starscream's body and purred, laughing boldly, reveling in the fear and struggle. "Louder," he coaxed, in high good humour, delight and lust. "Scream louder, _Starscream!_"

The Seeker obliged, although out of no especial desire to do as the Warlord told him. He didn't even hear Megatron's words. He begged, sobbed, screamed, offered anything to have Megatron off him. "Isn't there anything?!" he wailed pitifully. Megatron's optics narrowed and suddenly his cannon was at Starscream's head. The fusion cannon itself had most of Megatron's reputation – it was an idol of dread. Starscream stilled and silenced immediately: never before had its threat been bent on him.

"That's better," growled Megatron. His plating was already shifting, loosening to release the heat and protect his internals where his coolant system was not enough. "And as a matter of fact, Starscream, there _is_ something."

Megatron knew then that he had won. Oh, Starscream was pretty enough; a nice enough prize to take at the end of his troubles, but Megatron's primary elation was not the rape. It was the knowledge that he had clipped the Seeker's wings, taken he who bent the very skies under the dominion of his wings and broken him, made him chattel, made him a pet. He had controlled the storm, taken the winds in hand and conquered them entirely.

The handsome dark face tilted upwards and hope-filled red optics dared to meet Megatron's… but that fragile hope went out of them like a spark extinguished as the Tyrant laughed softly, cheek against Starscream's – that delicious little shudder, revulsion and fear and everything in between! – and lips brushed against the Seeker's audioprocessor and whispered,

"You."


End file.
